What You Will
by greyhorizon
Summary: Twelfth Night-inspired au You know the one. Young woman in dire straits takes on identity of her twin brother. In this guise, she meets and falls for a noble man. He, however, has his sights on another woman, who's grieving and not interested, until - forget it. This needs a diagram. Since the season's theme is identity, let's revisit an old classic from the old classic himself
1. Chapter 1

**So, this is just Twelfth Night-inspired. It's not strict canon. It's barely loose canon (*snort* - that was actually unintended). Anyway, I still miss Tommy so have made him Felicity's twin, so the whole 'being mistaken for each other looks-wise' is out (not that I've ever really bought that in the casting of any production I've ever seen). I also couldn't put a fake moustache and suit on Felicity. Just no. Or have Laurel fall for her. Just couldn't.**

**Otherwise, for any school kids skipping out of reading the Shakespearean comedy and looking to scan over something quickly for the essay they need to write, this story is exactly the same as the play. You can quote scenes from it and everything. Promise.**

**Just a friendly warning: if you are going to read this story, then please suspend your disbelief very, very high. Granted, we are playing in the DC universe, so clark-kent-donning-glasses-so-noone-recognises-him-as-superman is probably a good bench to mark. In other words, try to be kind and forgiving, and let's have some fun with it.**

**Chapter top quotes and storyline (vaguely) is all Mr Shakespeare's. Bless.**

**So, Twelfth Night. Twelve chapters. Let's do this thing.**

**'If this were played on a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction.' - S'spr, 12 nite, y'all**.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1 - 'These parts: which to a stranger, unguided, and unfriended, often prove rough, and inhospitable  one face, one voice, one habit and two persons'**

Felicity tugged her grey hoodie further down to shield her face, and pushed her shoulder into the heavy glass door to swing it open. She swagger-shuffled into the coffee shop and took up at the end of the line of patrons awaiting their hit.

Breathe, just breathe.

She adjusted her saggy denim jeans that were starting to slip a little and adopted a wide leg stance, shoulders slightly hunched and fingerless-gloved hands hooking off her lowdown pockets. Her black and orange backpack covered the Starling City Hawks emblem blazed across the back of the hoodie, and her wide, blackframed hipster-geek glasses seemed tassled across the top rim by her fake brown fringe.

Worst. Idea. Ever.

She was going to kill Tommy for talking her into this.

She glanced around, surreptitiously, blue eyes scanning the room to see if anyone was looking at her weirdly. Engrossed in animated conversations, headphones, texting, newspapers and thoughts, no one was paying her attention.

She breathed out a little and mentally fist-pumped. She was actually pulling this off! Wait, was she really celebrating the fact that everyone thought she was a boy?

Her consternation thought-train was punctured by the sounds of heavy fingers hitting keys, and frustrated, muttered swearing against the background of cafe chatter.

Felicity's left eyelid began to twitch in duet with each thunking key-smack. She looked around and spied the culprit in a booth next to the window, his back to her, but his forearm and hand staccato-ing off the 'enter' key firmly in view.

She couldn't help herself. Bad things happened when good people did nothing.

She broke away from the line and walked towards the man in the booth.

'Stop! Just stop. Hands up and awaaaayyy from the keyboard.'

He looked up from the screen, and swivelled his head around towards the voice - his expression a little confused, a little amused. 'Are you holding me up?'

Sonafabitch. Pretty much the most handsome face she had ever seen was doing the asking. Blonde cropped hair, deep blue eyes, beautiful expressive mouth, hard jaw glinting with golden stubble. Couldn't have been a pasty-faced middle management type. Oh no, she was pretty sure this was that billionaire playboy guy, Oliver Queen. The one back from the dead a few months ago.

Still, crimes against technology and all.

'Ha!' she stalled, pointing her finger at the laptop, nodding her head in unison with her rhythmic pointing. _What the hell was she doing?_

'The only crime being committed here is your assault on that poor, baby computer.' _Was that an incredibly girly thing to say? _Felicity coughed and dropped her voice a little.

'I mean, dude, you're crushing the keys. You need to treat her gently, like a lady.' _God, just make it stop._

She was going to _kill_ Tommy for talking her into this.

The Oliver Queen guy was looking at her like she was slightly insane. _Fair call_. She shrugged off her backpack and gestured with her eyes for him to move down the red booth seat so she could sit.

He didn't move.

She raised her eyebrows. 'Do you want my help or not?' Voice a bit gravelly. _Nice_.

The man staring up at her was now looking a little concerned. She was pretty sure he was checking for green exit signs. _Maybe he's not been out among the people much since he's been back?_

'Scoot over dude and I will fix whatever's ailing you. And by you, I mean your computer. Because I wouldn't know how to play doctor with you...or want to for that matter...but I am like a doctor for computers. An IT neurosurgeon, if you will-'

'Okay, okay!' he looked at her, shaking his head, obviously deciding the odd young guy standing in front of him was harmless. He smoothly moved his body down the booth to sit next to the window, creating a vacancy in front of the laptop perched on the table.

Felicity, bypassing second thoughts and rapidly nearing third, was suddenly hesitant to sit down. She didn't know this man - who was famous in a notorious kinda way - and she was supposed to be keeping a low profile.

_Fuck it._ It was just fixing a small computer problem for a stranger. A few minutes and she could fade back into the city.

She plopped down onto the still-warm bench seat, trying to ignore the fact he had turned slightly towards her, and was really quite big now she was sitting down next to him. She could feel him looking at her so she shot him a glance from behind her glasses, and a close-mouthed non-engaging smile, and turned back to the screen in front of her.

'So what exactly is the problem?' she asked him, voice low, eyes on screen, head tilted slightly towards his answer, ear cocked.

'Uh, the computer belongs to a friend of mine who's out of town and he needs me to access some files for him.'

Felicity's black, short-nailed fingers flew across the keys, finding the crack in the fortress.

'I'm in.'

'You're in? Just like that? That was about 10 seconds,' his tone disbelieving.

'Yep, and no force needed. Just a little sweet talk and digit encouragement.' Felicity turned to him and smiled in satisfaction. Her words signed onto the register in her head. _Fuck_.

'That sounded a little dirty, which was not...' He began his amused smile at her again. She mesmerised a little. Then his gaze shifted, arrowing behind her, as his iron arm grabbed her head and pushed it down towards the leather booth seat.

'Get down! Stay dow-'

Deafening gunfire drowned out his voice. She was swept by his body, off the bench and to the floor, shielding her. The gunfire rained throughout the room, joining a symphony of screams and shattering glass.

She felt the wind of bullets above her. The laptop bounced off the table and landed a foot from her hooded head, riddled with holes, screen sharded.

* * *

><p>The silence sounded out of place after the commotion and chaos of the last minute. There was a quiet sobbing, rustling, a cough. Calm before a different storm of shock and realisation.<p>

Felicity raised her head from the debris scattered, brushed concrete floor, adjusted her glasses, and looked around. The weight of the man's body - Oliver's - had lifted from hers amidst the gunfight, and she couldn't see him as she looked around the coffee shop in its broken aftermath. She could see others though, and everyone seemed to be alive - glass and dust covered, some bloody - but moving bodies at least.

Felicity gingerly rose to standing and crunched across the glass to the person nearest her. A dark haired woman, sitting up now in a booth, but bleeding from the brow. Felicity ripped at the napkin dispenser in the middle of the table, pressed some white napkins against the red, and helped the woman position her hand to keep it in place.

She looked around and saw others getting up and helping those who were injured, some with phones to their ears - calling loved ones, or emergency - trying to bring sense back to the crazy.

A young, aproned-covered barista was moving next to a black clad body on the ground, blood spreading from under the body, gun still strapped to his torso. The shooter. The barista was cautiously removing the gun from the body. To get it away, Felicity assumed.

As she picked her way across the gauntlet of the coffee shop - chairs overturned, hysteria taking hold for some as voices started to raise - she saw two more black clad bodies on the floor, centred in red, pooling blood. _Three shooters? What the hell?_

Her eyes scanned the room as she swivelled. _Where was the Oliver guy? _He had saved her; she needed to make sure he was alright.

They stopped their search at a body-caused blood trail creeping away under the swing-closed kitchen door. Someone was bleeding and crawling.

Felicity nimble-hopped over a side-turned table and headed towards the kitchen. She swung the double-hinged door open and paused - hearing attuned for gun-clicky noises of more shooters.

She heard hard, laboured breathing and a groan. Forgetting safety, she scampered towards the figure slumped on the floor against a metal, condiment-laden shelf.

'Oliver! Oliver!'

His grey T-shirt had morphed into black with blood, a tear in the shoulder signalling where the bullet had hit.

Unthinking, she grabbed his face in her hands as she crouched down next to him, willing him to fully conscious and okay.

He met her halfway.

'Take me...take me...father's...' Efforted words between harsh, shallow breaths.

'Oliver, you're going to be okay. I don't know what you're trying to say though.'

'Take me to...father's old steel factory...Glades.'

'Oliver, no. The ambulances will be here soon. They'll take you to the hospital.'

'No!' he bit, sharp. 'Please.' His eyes hooked hers. 'Take me.'

Felicity could feel her blood pumping, heightened breathing, adrenaline navigating her through her decision. Was this man even in his right mind to be asking this of her? What if he died and she was left with him at some abandoned factory? Surely she should just try to stop the bleeding until the paramedics arrived. Plus, he was huge. She was doubtful she could even fit him in Tommy's car, let alone drag him there.

As she debated, she stood and looked around the kitchen. Spying a pile of clean tea towels, she reached and grabbed a striped few, and bent down to press them as padding against his wound. Her hands, gloved in blood, looked so small against his labouring chest. They were dwarfed as his own hand came up to cover hers and vice the towels in place.

'Please. Help me.'

_Fuck_. Three little words made her decision for her.

She met his imploring eyes and nodded.

'You're going to have to help me Oliver. It is Oliver, right?'

'Right.'

'You're too big, I can't lift you.'

He turned his head to look for a purchase, grabbed the vertical steel spine of the shelves, and began to lever himself up, Felicity slipping under his arm to help, and staggering a little as he transferred his weight to her.

'Out the back,' he clenched. He had one arm slung over her shoulders, bearing his brunt, and the other holding the red drenched tea towels in place.

Together they non-rhythmically faltered to the door, like a drunken three-legged man race. Felicity felt like she was trapped under a mountain of iron. _Damn, he was heavy. How does someone get this heavy?_

She heard him cough a laugh. Guess that observation had visited her mouth.

'Sorry. Blooding pouring, imminent death. I know, I know.'

They somehow made it to the back door, and with some clumsily creative manoeuvring, through the door, down the back steps to the alley, and to Tommy's car parked on the street.

The front of the cafe was in bedlam, people on the street, others heading in to help, the first of the red and blue flashing turning the corner and pulling up to double park in front.

Shielded by the spectacle of the crime scene, Felicity hurriedly opened the back car door and eased Oliver down as gently as she could. Her 'gently' could probably use some work, as his head smacked against the doorframe on her first attempt. 'Sorry.' She then shoved him into the backseat - reverse jack-in-the-box style - jarring his foot as she slammed the door. 'Sorry...again.'

'This is saving me?' she was pretty sure she heard him mutter against the pain, as she dropped into the driver's seat and started the engine.

She pressed her lips together to contain the smile that threatened, and checking the side mirror reflection, pulled out into the street, towards the Glades, undetected.

As she drove, eyes flickering to the rearview mirror to check on her passenger, paling but still breathing, dawn began to break on the reality of her predicament.

Tommy was going to kill her for this.

And not just because of the blood soaking into the upholstery of his backseat. In the last half hour, she had pretty much risked everything. Not only had she spurned laying low, she had inadvertently began dating its antithesis - beckoning-for-a-spotlight-by-saving-Starling's-most-famous-and-media-magneted-son.

At least Oliver seemed to want to avoid any attention, if the derelict, dimly lit factory she had just pulled up outside of was any indication. Felicity double-checked her phone to make sure she was in the right place. _Perfect location for a horror movie. He may not be the only one who dies here tonight._

Oliver roused as the car stopped. 'Downstairs. Dig will help.'

Not really understanding, Felicity nodded and scooted out of the car, towards help.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 - _You speak ill of the devil, how he takes it at heart_**

**Dun, dun, dunnnnn. The big bad of the piece this way comes.**

* * *

><p>Felicity looked warily at the large man adjusting Oliver's IV drip, and discretely tugged down her fringe for the twentieth time.<p>

Their exchanged words so far had been used to save Oliver's life. She had a few others she'd like to employ now that he'd stabilised, according to the man named Dig. Like, what the hell were they doing in the Vigilante's hideout?

Dig finished tending and turned back to face her. Impressive arms crossed over his impressive chest, expression schooled, but face innately kind. Felicity felt he was a good man, despite the arrow-y surrounds.

'I'm guessing you have some questions.' Baritoned honey.

'Some.' Felicity's hoodie-clad shoulders shrugged. 'I assume Oliver is the Vigilante?'

Dig's eyebrows raised.

'Why do you say that? I could be the Vigilante, or someone else we know.'

Felicity gave him an unconvinced eye as she began moving around the lit and shadowed room, running her finger along an arrow shaft as she passed, before ducking her hand away into her pocket.

Knowing that she probably shouldn't, she couldn't help theorising to this man.

'Timing fits. With his return from the island, and reports of the Vigilante in Starling.'

Dig looked at her, considering. 'But the police charged him and cleared him, when the Vigilante was seen at the same time Oliver was in custody.'

'Oh, but they didn't know he had a partner.' She inclined her short wigged-head. 'You.'

'You're a quick one kid.' Small smile curled, impressed. Serious stole back. 'Tell me, what happened?' Dig nodded to Oliver, flat on the stainless steel table, chest rising and falling reassuringly.

Felicity's mind scanned the truth for pitfalls, and gave it the all clear.

'Oliver and I were in this coffee shop down on Blake Street-'

'You know that's a bad neighbourhood, right?' he interjected, admonishing.

Felicity gave him a look. 'I do now. Obviously.'

She continued. 'Anyway, I was helping him with this computer thing, and gunmen came in and shot the whole place down. Oliver saved me.'

Dig had stilled. 'Where are they now?'

'When I got up, there were three dead on the floor. Everyone else seemed mostly okay, but then I found Oliver injured, and he wanted me to bring him here.'

'And you did?' Dig looked at her intently, curious.

'Well, he was pretty clear about it. And he had just saved me.'

'Still, not everyone - hell, not most people - would have.'

Felicity shrugged again. 'I don't know. I just felt like I could trust him. And this is what he wanted.'

She looked around the strange hideout. 'And now I've seen all this, I can understand why. Were the shooters after him? For being the Vigilante?'

Dig shook his head, matter-of-fact. 'Not sure. We'll have to wait for Oliver to wake up to find out.'

Felicity took her breath. Fidgeting kicked in. 'Right. About that. I should probably get going before he does. I promise I won't say anything, but I really don't want to get caught up in-' she waved her arm across the scene of the room, 'all of this.'

'I'm sorry kid, but I'm going to need you to stay until we speak to Oliver.' Kind but firm. Wiggle-room free.

Felicity sighed, knowing it had been a long shot. She fell sitting into a chair, mouth unconsciously forming a pondering pout, eyes fixed on the floor. _How long was she going to be here? And would they even let her leave? Surely they would, after she had tried to help. Since she was one of the good guys. Well, girls. Well actually, good girl pretending to be a good guy-_

'So, kid, what's your name?'

Felicity's blue eyes shot up.

She knew this one. Practised. 'Tommy. Though everyone calls me Flick.'

'Flick?'

'It's a nickname...for computer stuff. Like, flick of my fingers. I'm good with computers.' Explaining away. It was actually her childhood nickname.

'Which, if I'm gonna be stuck here awhile, we need to talk about.' Felicity got up from the chair and walked towards the computer screens set up on a desk at the far side of the room. 'Who the hell set up your computers?'

'Ah, that would be me and Oliver.'

'And how would you feel about me setting them up so they actually work?'

Dig chuckled. 'I think that would be fine.'

* * *

><p>Felicity swivelled in her chair to the sound of a groan across the room. She watched as Dig walked over to the steel table, and placed his hand on the arm of the man returning to consciousness.<p>

Oliver looked up at him in acknowledgement - almost as if this was an everyday thing - and then slowly, stiffly sat up. Bare, scarred torso patched and bruised.

He looked past his friend to her, sitting framed by the screens. His brow furrowed in remembering, in placing her. She shrunk back into the chair a little, not scared, but not comfortable either. _How was she going to get out of this one? Talk about about frying pan into the fire. Or maybe fire into the firestorm? Either way, it seems like she was a late developer for trouble._

She gave him a little wave, then clenched her fist to stop. _Shit. Girly. _Biting her bottom lip, she stood up trepidatiously, the computers behind her feeling like a battlement. Like they had her back.

Oliver pushed himself off the bench, and grabbing a scratchy, grey blanket proffered by Dig, limped towards her.

She took the offensive. 'So Dig said I could, you know, fix your computers.'

'They needed fixing?'

'Only if you wanted them to function. As computers.'

His eyebrow twitched in acknowledgement. _He was pretty lucid, for a guy that had almost died._

'I mean, they were-'

He cut her off. 'It's okay. Thanks.' He couldn't remember a name. Likely because she hadn't given it to him in their maelstrom of meeting.

'It's Tommy,' she offered. 'But call me Flick.'

'Flick?'

Dig's voice chimed in, propping himself against a table. 'Like in flick of his fingers. He's good with computers.'

Felicity looked at Dig and smiled. 'Thanks.'

He returned it. 'No problem kid.'

Oliver looked back and forth between the opposite two, feeling like he'd missed a chapter. A sudden thought.

'The laptop, at the cafe?'

Felicity shook her head, a little nonplussed at his priorities.

'Sorry, it's still there. It has a few bullets in it.'

Oliver swore creatively.

Dig turned to him. 'Did you get anything off it?'

'Ah, the kid - sorry, Flick - was helping me, before everything turned to shit. But no, there wasn't the time.'

'And the shooters?'

'Likely what we thought, but we can't be sure without the files.'

Both men had tensed, frustrated. Path to whatever they were after, blocked.

_Don't say it, don't say it, don't say-_

'If you can get it back, I may be able to salvage it.'

Spoken invitation for continuing her trouble-streak. Obviously, when God was giving out survival instincts, she'd opted for double the smarts and stellar fashion sense instead.

_Le sigh. She really missed her shoes._

Felicity mentally flummoxed back to the present to find both men really looking at her now. Uncomfortably so. She was hopeful her disguise could hold up to moderate scrutiny, but these were not stupid men and her luck could only hold so long. She held her breath, not chancing to move.

'Well, I'm sure the police have it by now, but I have a contact or two, so I'll see what they can do.' Oliver paused. 'Thank you.' A formal acceptance of her offer.

His voice quietened. 'And thank you for saving my life, Flick.' He stood face on to her, blanket slung across his shoulders, holding out his hand.

Hesitantly, she moved her black-tipped hand into his and shook, wincing at his crushing grip. His hold lightened as he saw her expression. 'Sorry.'

'Don't worry about it. That bruise on your temple, that was me. Getting you into the car. So we're even.'

He pressed his lips and nodded, trying not to smile. Dig, amused, didn't try.

'Look, do you mind if I get a bit cleaned up and get out of here,' Felicity looked down at her rust-red hands and bulbous hoodie, smeared with dirt and blood.

She looked up and saw Oliver make his decision. 'Bathroom's up the stairs, to the the right.'

She nodded her thanks, picked up her backpack and began to walk towards the stairs, only remembering her practiced boy-shuffle about four steps in. As she reached their base, she turned. The two men were watching her leave. Still, no gender pennies seemed to have dropped.

She wanted to let him know he had made the right decision about her. 'I won't tell anyone your secret, Oliver.'

'I know.'

'How do you know?' she asked, puzzled.

'I trust you.'

'But why? I'm a stranger.'

He looked at Dig and then back to her.

'I don't know, there's just something about you.'

* * *

><p>'Who is she?'<p>

A dry swallow of trepidation. 'We're working on it sir.'

A tall man stood against a window, features pronounced as though they should be cast in bronze. Hair short, brown greying, slightly curled. Dead eyes the harbinger of his name. Tiger Snake. His nature its solidifier.

'It's been over a week. I want her found.' Not a demand; an expectation.

He turned his head so it was profiled against the night's sky ekeing into the lamp-lit room. Antique furniture-set. Expense soaked into every turn of wood, every stroke of art, every fibre of carpet.

He looked back at the shorter, suited man a few steps in from the doorway. The young man's shoulders were steady but barely containing his instinct to cower.

'Reginald.'

'Yes sir?'

'You have three more days.'

'She's good sir. She's really good-' he tremored.

'Enough.' Smooth, deep voice, transfixing. 'Three days, or this doesn't end well for you.' The tall man looked at him dispassionately, an un-hungry predator eyeing its future prey.

'Y-y-es sir.' Dismissed, scampering backwards out of the room, closing the door against the bleak conversation, and the threat, which he knew would be seen through if he failed.

Reginald, or Reggie to his friends, was an IT genius, simply put. He had been headhunted out of college by major corporations and US-based government agencies.

His eventual vocational choice met his soaring ego and reflected his dubious morality. He knew of the Tiger Snake's reputation before he'd decided to work for him, lured by the fortune offered and the borrowed power of working for one of the underworld's most feared and brutal.

And so for the last four years, he had constructed the electronic framework for the Tiger Snake's empire and been instrumental in building its intangible fortresses, its roads in and out, its liquidity, its landmines, and - what he had thought was - its traceless facade of legitimacy.

Until someone had wandered on in. Until this nameless, faceless 'she' had hacked down the promised-impenetrable facade.

What this 'she' seemingly didn't know at the time was whose territory she had inadvertently stumbled into. Or the fact she had stepped on the Tiger Snake's tail.

His reptilian namesake, tiger snakes, were known for a high mortality rate for those they struck, and unfortunately for their victims, they struck with a near 100 per cent success rate.

The difference with the man he had just closed the door to?

The Tiger Snake never missed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 - _'I am not what I am'_**

Felicity stared up into darkness. Huffing, she reached over and turned on the bedside lamp. It was 1.25am and she was still wide awake.

She knew it wasn't the coffee. It was only in part the strange, death-defying, life-saving day she had just experienced.

What kept her from sleep was Oliver Queen.

She wondered at him, what he must have endured on the island to come back with those skills, and those scars. The man he must be to do the things he did. The charming facade of the billionaire hiding a dark, tortured noble. A noble man seeking redemption. For something. Someone perhaps.

Felicity didn't like mysteries; they bugged her. And Oliver Queen was an enigma the likes of which she had never before encountered. He was fascinating. And, well, a little bit gorgeous. Okay, he was pretty much the most handsome man she had seen up close, so of course she was dressed as a guy when they first met, and then covered in his blood the second time they'd spoken. Not exactly high scoring on the passion-inducing scale.

_Which didn't matter,_ she chided herself, _because she was laying low. As a guy._

Felicity groaned and turned her face into her pillow. After ten seconds, she turned her head away from partial suffocation by feathered mass, and expelled a sharp breath through her nose.

_Enough. Enough now. _Her and Tommy's lives were at risk, and she didn't have time for this. Wrong time. Wrong city. And definitely wrong out-of-her-league-and-potentially-out-of-his-mind guy.

Sleep came after another hour or so of mind circles; broken into minutes later by her phone's illuminated buzz.

Felicity blearily felt up the lamp near her head, and found the small button to push for light. She grabbed her phone and glasses-less, brought the screen up to her face. She groaned as she deciphered the picture of her grinning twin brother.

'Hey sprocket!' Tommy's jovial greeting.

'Tomm-y,' Felicity's half-asleep censure. 'What are you doing calling?'

'What? It's been a few days and I just wanted to check in how you were?'

'Tommy, it's almost three in the morning.' Felicity tried for admonishing, but it came out resigned.

'Is it? Huh. Well you know I'm not great at timezones.'

'What time did you think it was?'

'Like, 1am?'

'And that's better?'

'Little sis, I'm calling to see if you're okay, so get off my case. Are you okay? Are you settled in?'

'Yeah, Tommy, I'm fine. I'm going out of my brain with boredom, but I'm safe. I'm okay.'

'And you've been staying close to the apartment. You've haven't been out in the city?'

'No, not the central bit.'

'Felicity?' Tommy's tone dropped at the question.

Felicity winced into the phone. She hated lying to Tommy. Especially now.

'I...may have gone for some coffee. At a coffee shop.'

'Uh-huh.' Waiting for the shoe.

'And there may have been a small-ish incident. I _was_ wearing that lame-ass disguise though,' she hurried, in her defense.

'What happened?' No-nonsense older brother now.

Felicity picked at the threaded edging of her sheet. 'Um, some guys came in and shot the place up?'

'Fuck, Flick! Are you okay? Did they hurt you?'

'No, no, I'm fine Tommy. Not a scratch. Some guy pulled me down on the floor. I'm fine.'

She waited for the question she knew was coming.

'Were they after you, Flick? Was it his men?' Tommy's voice edged towards panic.

'No, I don't think so. I don't think it was me that they were after. Just...bad timing.'

Tommy sighed his relief.

'And you got out of there okay? No one saw you?'

Felicity gulped her lie. 'No one, Tommy.'

'Well, good.' She could hear his tiredness down the line.

'How are you going, Tommy?'

'I'm fine, little sis. I think we're almost there. Hopefully this will all be over soon. But in the meantime, you gotta lay low. Stay home, and if you need to go out, just be discrete, okay? Don't talk to anyone. Cos your boy voice sucks,' he kidded, Tommy-of-old.

'Yeah. Okay.'

'And Flick?'

'Yeah?'

'Thanks.'

No more words needed.

* * *

><p>For the fourteenth time since Tommy's inane idea that she disguise herself as a guy, Felicity apologised to her boobs.<p>

'Nipples, I am sorry,' she muttered, as she struggled the makeshift, breast de-hancing girdle up over her chest. Crushing tender breastage, restricting bloodflow, evening tell-tall curves. Felicity turned to the side and surveyed her reflection.

'I can't believe it took me that long to grow boobs, and now I look like I'm twelve again.'

Felicity sighed and pulled a green t-shirt over her head, and a flannelette shirt over that,completing her dubious 'transformation'.

Groceries weren't going to buy themselves, and after the strange day of yesterday, she was determined to stay indoors for the next few days with the best the local supermarket aisles had to offer, her weathered box set of Friday Night Lights, and basically, be not a temptation to fate.

She twisted her long blonde hair to cap the top of her head, and was pinning it as the chimes of Tommy's doorbell sounded.

Instant nerves. _Who the hell?_

Felicity scrambled for her boy-wig and positioned it on her head, pushing blond wisps up and under, angling her head this way, then that, in the mirror, as she looked for traitorous strands. Heart pounding, blood rushing.

Again, chimes.

Her breath short as she made herself walk, not hide, not run, down the hallway, peering through the distorting scope in the front door to the other side of the hall.

Recognising her visitors, Felicity closed her eyes and thumped her forehead gently against timber. Apparently the strangeness of yesterday was going to spill into today.

Felicity un-locked locks and opened the door to Dig and Oliver.

'Hey.' Oliver, still in pain, she could tell, but colour better.

'Hey guys, what's up?' Felicity mentally rolled her eyes at her boy-gruff tone.

'Can we come in?'

Felicity looked down at the black computer bag Dig held closely to his side. She pulled the door open and allowed passage. Closing it firmly behind them, locks bolted in place.

She followed them back down the hall, and watched as Dig landed the case on her kitchen table, zipping it open.

'So, we got the computer back,' Dig said.

'So I see.'

'Do you think there's anything you can do with it?'

Felicity shrugged. 'I can try, dude.' Her impromptu male slacker vocab was a little limited.

She sat, pulled the laptop towards her, pressed it to life, and began touching keys.

'How did you find where I lived?' she asked the two men, her eyes not leaving the cracked screen.

'Sorry, Flick, that was me. Tagged your backpack.' Dig apologised to her open-mouthed accusatory look.

She regained some aplomb. 'Can you take it off now? I don't particularly want you guys - who let's face it, I only met yesterday - tracking me 24/7.'

'Yeah,' Oliver looking across at Dig and back to her, 'we can do that.'

'Cos when I gave Dig my number, I thought it meant you would _call _first.'

'Sorry, we're in a bit of a rush. Saving the city and all,' Oliver deadpanned.

This time, Felicity's eyeroll was visible behind her glasses.

Dig snorted in a suppressed laugh. Oliver chose to ignore the two.

'So, what do you think?' he prompted, nodding to the screen.

'It's going to take me a little while. This computer's pretty roughed up.'

'Do you want us to wait?'

'No!' Felicity's voice dropped naturally, with trepidation. The last thing she needed was these two men making themselves at home in Tommy's apartment, staring at her while she worked.

'I can bring it to you when I'm done. I'll _call_ first.' Laying it on with the subtle.

'Fine,' Dig said, rising from his bench lean. 'Oliver, we should get going. We've got that meeting with Walter and your mother at QC.'

Oliver nodded and turned to her.

'Thank you for doing this Flick. And look, I know all this must seem...crazy...but I appreciate you helping us. And, uh, given your skills, I thought maybe that's something you might want to do again? In the future.'

'Oliver.' Dig's warning voice.

Felicity looked at the standing men, silently warring over her.

'I'll think about it,' she said.

Dig broke his gaze from Oliver's adamant one, and looked down at the diminutive young figure lit pale blue by computer screen.

'Flick, what we do is dangerous.' He turned back to his partner. 'You know how dangerous, Oliver. You know what you're asking, but Flick doesn't.'

'Dig-' Felicity cut him off, 'Thanks for the concern, but I said, I'd think about it.' She looked at him with determined eyes, and he saw a strength there he recognised. It was similar to the look that Oliver gave him every time he headed out on a mission.

'Okay, okay.' Dig diffused his protectiveness. 'Oliver, let's go. Flick, we'll wait to hear from you.'

Felicity got up from the seat at the kitchen table and saw the men out, byes sounded, deadbolts farewelling their visit.


End file.
